


Perfect Match

by GettinGrimey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Rick Grimes, Sweet Negan (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:04:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettinGrimey/pseuds/GettinGrimey
Summary: Soon after meeting Negan through a dating app, Rick receives a devastating diagnosis that changes both of their lives forever.





	Perfect Match

Rick stood doubled over the kitchen sink, gripping the edge of the stainless steel basin with both hands. He was dizzy, swimmy-headed, couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Peering down at the floor between his arm and the counter, he forced his lips into a tight smile for his baby daughter. As usual, she was right there on his heels, pulling and tugging at the frayed hem of his pants, demanding for her daddy to pick her up. 

 

_ It's probably just another damn sinus infection, _ he thought, blaming his weakness, all of his aches and pains on the arrival of autumn and its cooler night temperatures. He lifted his head, glancing out at the backyard through the window, taking note of how quickly the sourwood trees were trading in their dark, lustrous green leaves for shades of red, purple and yellow.

 

He dropped his head again, groaning into the hollow of the sink. He had always hated Monday mornings for as long as he could remember, but this one in particular, it was kicking his ass. He’d been exhausted all weekend, a run down feeling he couldn’t seem to shake—no matter how early he went to bed, or how late he slept in.

 

Reaching up, he massaged his temples a little with his fingertips, eventually letting his hands fall, resting them at the base of his stiff neck. Looks like he'd be spending his morning in Dr. Greene's office. With any luck, she’d just write him another prescription for some antibiotics and send him on his way. In a week or so, he’d be back to his old self. 

 

After swallowing a couple ibuprofen and splashing a little cold water in his face to wake himself up, he reached down in the floor, scooping Judith up with a high toss above his head, catching her with a peal of high-pitched, giggly squeals. “Let’s go wake your brother up for school.”

 

***

 

“You don’t look so good, dad.”

 

Rick scrubbed a hand over his face, the rough, graying beard covering his jaw rasping loudly against his palm in the openness of the quiet kitchen. “I don’t feel so good, either,” he admitted, closing his tired eyes to rest them for a moment, unaware of the dark, puffy circles that loomed under them as he mindlessly pushed a forkful of scrambled eggs around on his plate. “I think I might be comin' down with somethin',” he added, leaning over to pick up the oatmeal covered spoon that had just sailed over the edge of Judith’s highchair. 

 

“Again?” Carl paused with his fork in the air, his face strained with concern as he stared at his dad across the table. “But you just got over that sinus infection.”

 

Rick waved him off with a short, muted laugh. “Eat your breakfast,” he urged, pointing up at the clock on the wall. Picking up his slice of half-eaten toast, coating it red with a spoonful of shiny strawberry jam. “I’m sure it’s nothin' to worry about. It’s probably just the weather.” He looked out the window, sucking the sweet, sticky spread off the tip of his thumb. “Warm one minute, cool the next.” He looked back at Carl, lifting his shoulders with a shrug. “I’m just... I dunno, I’m just tired. A little achy is all.” He reached down to pick up Judith’s spoon again, flinching at the twinge that shot through his ribcage as he straightened himself in his chair. “But just in case,” he smiled through the pain, rubbing his left side to help ease it away. “I’ll swing by Dr. Greene’s office before work. I’m sure Maggie’ll work me in.” 

 

“I bet it’s the flu.” Carl wagered, scraping another bite of egg together, shoving into his mouth. “There were eleven teachers absent with it on Friday, and most of my classes were only half full.”

 

Rick turned and glanced at his daughter, pulling a face at the amount of mashed banana she’d managed to stuff up her nose. “I hope not.” Turning back to the table, he swallowed his last bite of toast, running his tanned, calloused fingers up and down the chipped handle of his favorite coffee mug. “I’ve got that date tonight.” He smiled to himself before slugging the rest of his black coffee down his throat. 

 

“Oh.” Carl tried to hide the mile-wide, shit-eating grin that stretched across his face behind his glass of orange juice. “The guy you matched with on Tinder?” he teased, bringing a touch of light pink to his father’s cheeks. “What was his name again? Logan? Nathan?”

 

“His name’s  _ Negan _ ,” Rick reminded him for the twentieth time, rolling his eyes as he stood to collect his dirty dishes from the table. “Finish up if you wanna make it to school on time. I’ll hose your sister down and grab her bag. Clean up your mess and be ready to go in five.”

 

***

 

“Say,  _ ahhhh. _ ” Dr. Greene stuck a paddle-shaped stick into Rick’s mouth, holding his tongue down as she shined her light into the back of his throat. After looking up his nose and checking his ears for inflammation, she padded her fingertips around on the front and sides of his neck, checking his glands for swelling. “Your throat looks good,” she noted, pulling his t-shirt down at the top, running her cold stethoscope over his heart. “I don’t see any signs of the flu or strep. Don’t see anything that suggests a sinus infection either. I can swab you, run a rapid flu test if you’re still worried, but I really don't see any of the telltale symptoms.” She turned her head, looking at the wall as she concentrated on the rhythm of his heart. “Heart’s just tickin’ away in there, isn’t it?” she smiled, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. Lifting his shirttail, she slid the drum of her stethoscope over his upper back. “Deep breath.”

 

Rick’s body lurched forward a little on the exam table. “I swear y’all store those things in the freezer just for laughs.” He filled his lungs with air, letting it out slowly through his mouth. “Admit it.”

 

“Again.”

 

He could hear her smile as he puffed his chest in and out several more times.

 

“Well,” Maggie walked back over to her computer, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she took a seat on the swivel stool. “I don’t  _ see  _ anything physically wrong with you, Rick.” She logged into the system and pulled up his chart. “Your lungs are clear, and everything else checks out. Your blood pressure on the other hand,” she pointed to the numbers on the monitor. “It’s really high.” She spun around on the stool, staring at him, chewing on the end of her pen as she pondered for a long, quiet minute. “Tell you what. Let’s order some blood work, just to rule out a few things, then we’ll go from there. I think maybe… yeah.” She entered some information into the computer, then scribbled his name on a small plastic cup with a black Sharpie. “Let’s go ahead and run a urinalysis on you too, just to be on the safe side. My vacation starts tomorrow,” she said, meeting his eyes as she handed him the empty cup. “So it could be a couple weeks before I get back to you with the results. If this thing doesn’t go away in a few days or you start to feel worse, I want you to make an appointment to see Dr. Porter.”

 

***

 

Rick checked himself in the bathroom mirror, giving the black silk shirt currently stretched across his broad shoulders all of five seconds before he jerked it off, tossing it into the floor with the other three dress shirts he’d just tried on. He wanted to look nice for this date, he really did, but all of this formal garb and fuss, it just wasn’t his style—it wasn’t  _ him _ . In the forty-three years he’d been on this earth, he never was one to put on airs, and he damn sure wasn’t about to start now. 

 

After rooting around in his closet for a minute or two, he pulled his old, khaki button-down off the hanger, rolling the sleeves up just below his elbows to hide the holes and missing buttons, pairing it with his black, cowboy-cut jeans. Making a quick adjustment to his collar and spraying a cooling mist of woodsy cologne over his neck, he deemed himself ready to— 

 

His phone vibrated with a soft, muted buzz from the bathroom counter, making his stomach knot with nervous excitement.

 

**Negan: im here. you ready to go?**

 

He and Negan had been messaging back and forth for a few weeks now. If Negan wasn’t sending Rick a selfie every couple hours, Rick was sending him every adorable picture of Judith he had saved to his phone. 

 

Through their short chats, they soon realized they had a lot in common. Rick was a police officer, Negan a volunteer firefighter. They both shared a love of rock music and a passion for old Westerns—especially the John Wayne and Clint Eastwood classics. And even though Negan was a few years older, they also discovered they shared the same birthday. 

 

The two of them certainly seemed like an ideal match on paper, but they had never actually had the chance to meet in person. Deep down, Rick worried that it was all just too good to be true. And what if it was? What if this guy turned out to be a complete asshole? Picking his phone up with a heavy sigh, he knew there was only one way to find out.

 

**Rick: I’ll be right out.**

 

***

 

No sooner had he laid eyes on the man—sitting out in his driveway behind the wheel of an old beat up pickup truck, a worn out Ford baseball cap riding low over the most beautiful pair of honey green eyes he’d ever seen—Rick knew he was the one. From the second Negan smiled at him, their eyes locking for a fleeting, breath-robbing second as he climbed into that front seat, it was as if they had known each other their entire lives. He knew he’d finally found him, the other half of him, the better half that had been missing all these years. 

 

Just like Rick, Negan was a laid-back, even-tempered kind of guy. He was easy to please and content with what he had. There wasn’t an arrogant or deluded bone in his body. Right off the bat, he knew just how to please Rick. How to push him. Knew exactly what would annoy him. And what he could do to comfort him. And, like Rick again, he was no stranger to loneliness. Having gone through the loss of a spouse himself, he was convinced he’d never find someone else. 

 

Though they had only been together for six weeks, they had probably spent more time together than most married couples would in six  _ months _ . They had grown close, inseparable really. They were in love. Nothing would ever tear them apart, nothing. There wasn’t a force on this earth strong enough to separate the two of them.

 

***

 

“Is there anymore of that popcorn?” Negan whispered as he scrolled through the guide on the TV. Judith was curled up in a warm ball on top of his chest and stomach, sound asleep after her bath and bedtime bottle. “There’s a Clint Eastwood marathon on tonight,” he tacked on, pointing toward the screen. “Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, and your favorite and mine,  _ wah-wah-waaah,  _ The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”

 

“Yeah.” Rick jumped up and grabbed the bowl off the coffee table, the unpopped kernels left behind from the first batch swirling around loosely inside the empty dish. “If you’ll take her up and put her to bed, I’ll pop us another bag. I haven’t seen Fistful of Dollars in a long... ” His words trailed off as he dropped back down on the edge of the couch, resting his forehead heavily against the back of his forearm.

 

“You okay?”

 

Rick blew out a heavy breath and looked up, his eyes darting around the room for a moment like he were searching for something. “Yeah. I think I just... I stood up too fast or somethin’,” he laughed, trying to brush it off as no big deal. “I just got a little lightheaded. It’s nothin’,” he promised.

 

He was lying. He’d been feeling off for a few days now. He thought everything was fine. Thought whatever had him down a couple of months ago was long gone. It wasn’t. He was weak. He could feel himself getting weaker by the day. His appetite had diminished and he felt feverish and confused, even forgetful at times. Whatever it was, it would surely pass in a day or two. 

 

Pushing himself forward, slower this time, he got back to his feet. “You want homestyle or extra butter?”

 

“Surprise me.” Negan smiled over his shoulder, tiptoeing up the carpeted stairs as Judith slept on.

 

***

 

The inviting smell of hot melted butter and freshly popped corn permeated the entire house as Negan slid down the banister, hopping back onto the couch, shimmying his legs under Judith's blanket. “Bring on the popcorn and Clint Eastwood. I’m ready to sink my teeth into both of them. You think Carl would wanna watch?” He turned up the volume as the opening titles ran across the screen, whistling along to the theme. “The movie’s startin’. Is the popcorn ready yet? Rick?”

 

When no answer came, he got up and made the short trip to the kitchen. “What the fuck are you doin’ in here, babe?” he asked, rounding the counter of the center island. “Growin’ the goddamn corn yourself?” 

 

The floor was sticky, covered in sweet tea and broken glass, the popcorn was scattered all over the place. Rick was down on his knees in the middle of it, bleeding from a small cut on his finger as he hustled to pick the mess up with his bare hands.

 

"Shit." Negan grabbed a handful of napkins from the stack on the counter and dropped down beside him, blotting up most of the liquid, throwing the ice cubes up into the sink, and the broken glass and lemon wedges into the trash. "What happened in here?"

 

Rick hated like hell to have to lie to Negan. Absolutely hated it. But he didn’t want him worrying unnecessarily about him. Didn’t want him to make a huge fuss over nothing. And that’s exactly what would happen if he told him the truth. That he’d picked up the bowl of popcorn and the two glasses of iced tea and headed toward the living room. He lost his balance when his vision went fuzzy, and everything faded to black. That’s the last thing he remembered before waking up a few seconds later, staring up at the kitchen ceiling.

 

"I turned around to grab the tea,” he feigned a convincing laugh, holding on to his sore ribs as he did. “And I knocked the popcorn over.” He winced, hissing through his teeth as he pulled a tiny shard of glass out of his finger. “I slipped in the damn butter,” he laughed again with a strained smile, trying his best not to throw up in the floor or pass out again. 

 

Negan grabbed a broom out of the pantry, sweeping the soggy popcorn up into a pile. “Why don’t you go and get comfy on the couch. I’ll make some more popcorn and we’ll—”

 

“Would you mind if I—” Rick shoved himself to his feet with a muted groan, using the edge of the counter for support as he tried to ignore the spinning room. “Would you mind if I skipped the movies this time?” He gestured to the wet seat and crotch of his jogging pants. “Startin’ feel a little sticky down there. I think I’ll just hop in the shower for a minute and... go on to bed.”

 

“This early?” Negan stared at him, lines of worry creasing his brow. “This is Judy’s bedtime. You sure you’re feelin’ okay? I could come up there with you and—”

 

_ “No.” _ Rick took a tentative step forward, testing his balance before taking another. “No. You stay and enjoy Clint. I’m good. I promise.” He leaned forward, kissing him gently on the lips. “You come up there with me and we both know what’ll happen.” He smiled, kissing him again, longer this time. Deeper. “I think a few extra hours of sleep will do me a world of good.”

 

***

 

Rick  _ did  _ feel better, for a little while, but that weak, run down feeling, the shortness of breath, it all caught up with him again a few days later. 

 

_ Maybe it is just an age thing,  _ he thought, looking at the bottle of multivitamins for men over forty in his hand, turning it over to read the ingredient list and its promise to  _ support optimal health and wellbeing. _ Shane, his partner on the force, he swore by this stuff. Said it made him feel like a spring chicken again. 

 

Rick shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his rough, more-gray-than-brown beard, irritated with himself. He wasn’t getting any younger. Hell, he  _ knew  _ that. He was turning forty-four this year. He dropped his hand down his chest, running it over his stomach—the stomach that used to be tight and flat, sculpted with washboard abs. He glanced down, grasping the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up to his chin. His waist was thicker now, his belly round and distended. 

 

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if he lost a few pounds, got himself back into the gym, he might start to feel a little— 

 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” 

 

Rick flinched and shoved his shirt back down, putting the bottle of vitamins back on the rack. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” His tone was rougher than he intended, his body stiff.

 

Negan wrapped his arms around him from behind, nuzzling his face in the crook of his neck. “I didn’t know I was. I’m sorry.” He kissed him behind the ear, making him relax a just little with a long, heavy sigh. “Is supper about ready? I was thinking of grabbing Carl for a minute. Thought me and him could run down to Trader Joe’s and pick up some of that Cookie Butter ice cream for dessert. You okay with Judith here? I can load her up too if you—”

 

“She’s  _ fine _ ," he insisted, reaching for the box of pasta on the counter. " _ I’m _ fine. You two go on. The spaghetti will be ready when you get back."

 

***

 

Negan could hear Judith screaming as soon as he and Carl pulled back into the driveway. "Somethin's sure got your sister riled up," he noted, grabbing the plastic bags from the seat of the truck. “She’s pitchin' a damn fit in there.”

 

"She's probably hungry," Carl said, his nose wrinkling in the cool air as he inhaled the scent of garlic and parmesan cheese. "I can smell dad’s spaghetti all the way out here."

 

The screen door opened with a creaky groan, slamming behind them just as the smoke alarm went off. "What's the matter with you, girl?" Negan handed the bags to Carl, bending down to pick Judith up as she crawled toward him. Her nose was red and runny, her cheeks mottled and streaked with tears. "Where's your daddy?” he asked, wiping her face with a tissue.

 

Judith screamed even louder, piercing his eardrums with her frantic, high-pitched wails. She looked toward the kitchen, reaching as if she were trying to tell him something.

 

"What’s the matter?" Negan shushed her, bouncing her in his arms as he kissed her temple, brushing his hand against the back of her head. "It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Rick? We’re home. What happened to Judy?” 

 

The refrigerator door was standing wide open, a pot of water boiling violently on the stove as the thick pasta sauce burned beside it, bubbling up out of its pan, splattering all over the counter and stove top. “Carl. Take your sister.”

 

He found Rick laying in the kitchen floor between the oven and island, face down, his body crumpled and still.


End file.
